


Black and White

by TheZeroMoment



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Blind Character, Blind John, Blindness, M/M, Teenlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 09:50:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1506080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheZeroMoment/pseuds/TheZeroMoment
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘So you can’t see anything?’<br/>‘Pretty much.’<br/>‘Nothing at all? It’s very unusual for people to see nothing at all.’<br/>‘These shapes, moving around. They aren’t actually what I can see though, they are what I see inside my own head, it’s fucking weird, I know.’<br/>‘It’s interesting.’</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black and White

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing from the Sherlock universe.
> 
> I am not blind and I don’t really know how people who are classed as blind see. All of this is completely made up and it is probably not accurate in the slightest.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr under the same username should you wish to follow me there.

‘So you can’t see anything?’  
‘Pretty much.’  
‘Nothing at all? It’s very unusual for people to see nothing at all.’  
‘These shapes, moving around. They aren’t actually what I can see though, they are what I see inside my own head, it’s fucking weird, I know.’  
‘It’s interesting.’

~*~  
John Hamish Watson was blind, he had been since he was born, and quite frankly, he couldn’t really imagine anything different.

He’d been told numerous times about things he’d never be able to see, such as colours, and the sun, it and the gushing water of a river, or how when the sun’s light hits a river in just the right way it shimmers just so it looks like glass, which is this hard material that you can look through, and when glass shatters, which it does often, the patterns formed look like spider webs, which are sticky, in John’s experience anyway, but they are the homes of the spiders and they are strands of glittering material that cling and weave together, apparently they look magical when the wet rain clings to them.  
It just seems far too complicated, and hell, high school was complicated enough without having to worry about what he was missing out on. He was only new to these hallways anyway, and it was a disaster. He’d been homeschooled up to now, but his parents decided it would be a good idea for their son to suffer the wrath of other teenagers during sixth form for social purposes. He could hardly find his way around the place because of not knowing the hallways well enough, and he had to use his cane, which was torture. Not only did it create a banner shouting “BLIND KID HERE!” but it was awfully bulky and annoying to carry around.  
Not even a week into John’s new high school life, hesat down next to John in History and suggested being friends, and upon Johns confusion to this sudden preposition, he then explained his… observations of John over the past few days and decided that he was worthy of becoming friends with Sherlock Holmes. He had Sherlock for all of that now, to be his colours and his shimmering river and rain-coated spider webs. Sherlock who knew everything about him in less than an instant and John could only assume he’d been told by everyone else that the new blind kid was good as any to pick on, but he didn’t. He only brought up John’s disability once, and then never again.  
~*~

‘We’re different, polar opposites I’d say.’  
‘I fail to see how that is of importance.’  
‘I’m willing to bet you could be friends with anyone, Sherlock.’  
‘I want you John, they’re all idiots, whatever you may say. We are more alike than you think.’

~*~

They had been friends for about four weeks when Sherlock posed his idea. 

‘You would know how I look.’  
‘It would be horrifically awkward for the both of us and you know it.’  
‘Please John.’

The use of that particular word halted John for just a moment. He had never heard Sherlock utter that seemingly common word before, it confused him. And it seemed, in his moment of hesitation, Sherlock took that as the “Okay” sign, and took John’s smaller hands in his larger ones. They were cold, not freezing, but cold, compared to John’s warmer ones anyway. He raised their hands and pressed John’s fingertips against his cheeks. 

Sherlock took note of John’s unseeing eyes flashing and his breathing shaking as his fingers explored Sherlocks’ face. Sherlock was holding on to John’s wrists firmly as he brushed over his razor sharp cheekbones, his fluttering eyelashes. John traced his straight nose and down over his soft and aristocratic shaped lips, his touch featherlike and ghostly. 

John pulled away, shaking violently, hyperventilating slightly. Tears dripped down his cheeks and nose, Sherlock held him close, unable to do anything but attempt to console the shivering boy. John didn’t know why he had reacted like that, and apologised profoundly afterwards. The situation was never mentioned again.

~*~

‘Sherlock?’  
‘Hmm?’  
‘What are black and white?’

They were lying on John’s bed after school. Ties were off and thrown aside along with heavy backpacks. They were holding hands, something John realised they were doing more and more now. 

‘They’re colours.’  
‘I know that, you dimwit. I mean, what do they look like?’

Sherlock paused for a second before responding.

‘When the sun shines on your eyelids, do you see anything different?’  
‘Sort of, the shadows turn lighter, and sometimes I see little lines moving around.’  
‘Good, and the lines, they’re this sort of pure colour, right? Clean.’  
‘Yeah.’  
‘That’s white. Black is exactly the opposite, they are both devoid of colour entirely yet one is light and clean, and the other is dark and filthy. White and black.’  
‘Huh..’  
‘Are you okay?’  
‘The shapes are always black.’

Sherlock, instead of saying anything, squeezed John’s hand firmly to show him he was still there.

~*~

‘Sherlock what are you doing?’  
‘I want to try something, John, just please don’t freak out.’  
‘What should I do?’  
‘Just stay there, don’t move.’  
‘What’s happening? Sherlock, what are you doing?’  
‘I’ll show you.’

They were closer than normal, John could feel the heat radiating off of Sherlocks’ face, his breath fluttering over John’s lips. John was aware that he was sat on Sherlock’s lap, their uniform was getting wrinkled but either one of them be damned if they cared. Sherlock was everywhere, and the sensations were amazing, his nerves were on fire and blood was tingling in his veins. 

Sherlock’s long fingered hands were resting on John’s neck while he played with the short fine hair at the base of his skull. John was trembling again and he was gripping on to Sherlock’s school shirt like his life depended on it. He couldn’t tell if it was in fear, anticipation or excitement. 

When Sherlock finally pressed his lips to John’s, it wasn’t desperate, or needy, or frantic or anything else you might imagine a first kiss to be like. It was timid and sweet, innocent in every sense of the word.  
John, naturally, was trying not to freak out, but he quickly figured he liked all of these new feelings. The warm lips pressed against his own, a tongue brushing over them gently, like Sherlock was trying to reassure him. 

John loved it and Sherlock vowed to kiss John every day from then on.


End file.
